


Silver Tongued Devil

by DreadPirateWestley



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch's voice, F/M, Jaguar in a cello, Prompt Fill, Voice Kink, Voice porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadPirateWestley/pseuds/DreadPirateWestley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sound of Benedict's voice is very arousing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Tongued Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Written (and originally posted at BCSF) to fill this prompt : "Someone write a fic based on what Dustin Rowles said about Benedict: ‘.. a guy that will mind-fuck you to ecstasy before he even removes your clothes’… I’m thinking it’d be written as a voice kink. Just the sound of his voice makes you .. *ahem*… you know."

     “What’s this?”

     I glanced quickly at my iPod in Benedict’s large hand then stared blankly back at the newspaper I’d been reading over the recycling bin. It was yesterday’s, but it had a blurb about him that I wanted to add to my scrapbook. I arched an eyebrow at him and tried not to smirk.

     “It’s my iPod. Little electronic device that plays digital music? You gave it to me for my birthday last year.” He rolled his eyes at me as he turned the mp3 player over and over in his hand, stroking the small screen with his thumb. He took a step towards me and thrust it dramatically at my face.

     “Yes, I know that, but what’s this?”

     I suppressed a loud gulp as I saw the screen, then cursed myself for being too lazy to turn it off and put it away after my earlier workout. He’d been scrolling through the playlist named after him. I’d been stupid to name it that to begin with, but I’d never bothered to change it. I snatched at the iPod and felt slightly less exposed when he let me take it from him. I felt his eyes on me, and suddenly the floor was very interesting. Damn, was I blushing?

     “It’s a playlist. Just… some of your audio books.” I didn’t sound at all convincing, especially whilst nervously twirling the headphones’ cord around and around my fingers.

     “One hundred and two of them?” Oh God.

     “Some of them are split into separate files. It’s not that many!!” I was very nearly shouting at him. Still transfixed by the lino in our kitchen, I felt his hands fall softly on my shoulders and shake me playfully. I looked up and exhaled sharply when I saw that he was smiling kindly at me, not a hint of sarcasm on his face. He spoke evenly and softly.

     “Why do you have one hundred and two audio files of me on your iPod?”

     “Because I like the sound of your voice!” I blurted at him. “When you’re not here, I listen to you read something when I’m in bed all alone and then I don’t miss you so much.” He grinned at me, big and stupid, and I felt bolder. “Also,” I continued, tracing a finger up his stomach to rest where his shirt was unbuttoned, “It sometimes helps me imagine what you might be doing if you were in bed with me.” I took a step forward and looked up at him. “You don’t use your normal speaking voice in those radio dramas. There’s this… otherworldly quality to your voice. You just switch it on. It’s terribly sexy. You do know that, right?” His smile turned predatory as he pulled me in and kissed me, open-mouthed and hot. He nipped his way up my jaw line to my ear until I felt his breath just below the lobe. He growled, “You think my voice is… sexy?”

     And there it was – that slightly deeper timbre, the extra attention to enunciation. His lisp had disappeared. I closed my eyes and leaned into his long, lean body even further. A shiver, starting at my ear, worked its way down the rest of me. My nipples hardened and I marveled at how quickly this man could devastate me with his everything. His mouth still on my neck, I was suddenly gripped by the arse and pushed back against the edge of the breakfast table. He lifted me up easily, slowly leaning forward until the back of my knees hit the edge, then pushed me onto my back with a hand at each of my shoulders. All too swiftly his thighs had my legs braced widely apart at the knees, my hands pinned above my head. He leaned over me, low and close, touching only those few places. I was ever so willingly trapped.

     His mouth lingered near my neck and then his nose nudged mine, his lips just out of reach. I was trying desperately not to fidget, to wait patiently for his devilish plan to play out. But how could I not try to kiss that mouth or caress that exquisite expanse of neck? I squirmed, and that slight struggle earned me a raised eyebrow. His tongue traced his bottom lip and in response I bit mine.

     “Does my voice… _do it_ for you?” He was studying me, gauging my reaction to his every word. “Thanks to your little confession I can now imagine you here, all alone, tucked snugly in our bed. What does it for you the best, the quickest? What’s the shortest route from up here to down there?” Sweet Jesus. He wanted me to answer, but I couldn’t breathe, much less speak. “Not Casanova, surely. That’s too easy, too trite.” I was shaking my head. “Hmmmm?” he said. “Speak up, love.”

     “Ode to a Nightingale,” I managed. His smile at this was broad, menacing and salacious. Good lord.

     “Of course, of course! Your heart aches. Tender is the night. And while I’m reading Keats’ immortal words, what are your hands doing? Are you touching yourself? You are, aren’t you?” His eyes looked down my body briefly. “Are you imagining my hands, my body there next to you, my voice in your ear? Does my voice make you come?” I closed my eyes and turned my head away from his face. I tuned out everything but his voice. _His voice._ “Shall I try to make you come now, with just my words?” I nodded, my mouth set and eyes screwed shut. Yes, please. He chuckled.

     “My hands. If only my hands were free to touch you. But that’s not the game, is it?” Indeed, he made no move to touch me anywhere other than my wrists, and oddly enough I didn’t care. His words continued on, his tone level and sonorous. “Never mind my voice, I’ve seen you ogle my hands. When I’m cutting vegetables for dinner, when I twiddle the TV remote, when I roll up my sleeves as I dress in the morning. You’re always thinking how you’d rather they were touching you, kneading your skin as you writhe beneath me.” My hips jerked, and he widened his stance as he leaned against the table, his thighs spreading my knees even further apart. “You’re not quite writhing yet, do you need further stimulation?” I nodded again, urging him on.

     “I’ve not been completely blind to your reaction to my voice, you know. Nor has the fact that you can barely tear your eyes from my lips when I speak escaped me. I see you, transfixed by my mouth, frantically glancing at my eyes and then back. ‘How long before he notices I’m not maintaining eye contact?’ The answer is mere seconds. I see right through you. Your outward composure, your casual air; it’s all transparent - a devastatingly weak attempt to hide your obvious, unchecked desire.” His tone was mocking; his breathe close and warm on my eyelids. “You know that the only thing my mouth can do better than aid in your self gratification when I am absent from our bed is to taste you, mark you, bite you, suck you when I am not.” My hips twitched involuntarily, and his legs gave way slightly. It was room enough for me to move, to flex those muscles deep down where his words were stoking a fire. _Don’t stop talking._

     “Do you remember the day you moved in? You had me right here. I was pleasantly blindsided by your enthusiasm that day. In fact, I thought the table might break. I still worry that the neighbours heard.” I giggled at the thought and then went silent at the mental picture forming behind my eyes of our naked bodies that day, here, on this very spot. He was so low over me that his chest brushed against mine, and I arched up to try and maintain the contact, but he moved away with a passive look as his voice drawled on. “You moved so efficiently, so urgently over me. I fell apart before you could come, but you wouldn’t let me…assist you. I had to watch you there above me, pleasuring yourself to an ecstasy I no longer had much to do with. I felt a bit cheated, and even jealous of your fingers.” His mouth was moist against my cheek, and I felt his next words as he spoke them. “You’ll not deprive me of that pleasure today. Today, I alone will be the instrument of your undoing. I am in control. ”

     “Look at me.” One hand forced my chin up, the other, with its obscenely long fingers, held both my wrists easily. I opened my eyes and searched his stoic face as he floated over me. “Yes, your pupils are already dilated, verging on blown. Dead giveaway, that. Is the room warmer? Or is it just you?” Heat was creeping up my torso. My hips continued flexing, soon enough I’d start to sweat from the exertion. “If I had access to thermal imaging, I could show you that, without a doubt, it is most definitely you. Vasocongestion is occurring. Your vaginal walls are swelling with blood, by now your clitoris is quite engorged and if past history is any indication, you are absolutely, ridiculously wet. You are so very ready for me, simply aching for it.” And I was. Every inch of me struggled to touch even a small part of him, my back arching off the counter. I was clenching deeply now, releasing and then bearing down again. Panting, I stared up at him, eyes wide, willing them to show him how desperate I was to come. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and I knew he wasn’t done with me yet. How long would he make me wait? The hand that had held my chin moved slightly, its thumb tracing my lips, then applying slight pressure. I opened my mouth and let him in, sucking on the rough skin of the pad, swirling my tongue around the nail. He grinned, looking down at me through his lashes.

     Suddenly, his other hand let go of my wrists and moved to press down on my pelvis, stopping my relentless, futile thrusting. His thumb popped loudly out of my mouth and his hand moved down my body. Maddeningly frustrated, I reached down to try and end the ache, to touch my clit even once, but his left hand blocked me, his right now hovering so very near where he knew I wanted him to be. I puffed out a huff of angry air followed by a high-pitched “Benedict!” that sounded only half as mad as I felt. His fingers gently encircled my neck, pushing my head back down on the wood of the table, and all at once his other hand was there, rubbing me frantically through the fabric of my thin yoga pants. Everything inside me burst at once, my deprived insides convulsing spectacularly for what seemed like minutes, then relaxing in grateful relief. My breath came in bursts as he continued massaging me, gentler now, my muscles still twitching, heat still radiating out from my center. I covered his hand on my neck with my own, and felt laughter threatening to bubble up from my chest. This man was always getting me off in weird places. Not that I minded. His face was calm now, less like the fierce, in control sex god from before.

     “Well, that was a bad idea,” he said. His lisp was back, adorable and automatic. I used both hands to grab his hair rather more roughly than I usually would, then pulled him down and kissed him hard. It was my turn to grin devilishly. “No, it most certainly was not,” I said. “That was one of the best ideas you’ve ever had - I just wish I’d recorded it for future use.” His hands pulled me upright and I felt his erection press against me as I wrapped my legs around him. “You went a bit Sherlock on me there.” My hands snaked down to his crotch and I felt him jump at my touch. “Vasocongestion? You really do have an encyclopedic brain.”

     “Hardly. I just read too much. And I meant it was a bad idea for me,” he said, lifting me then setting me down safely on the kitchen floor, back on two feet again, attached to two very weak legs. He glanced down a bit sheepishly, expectantly, and in response my hands made quick work of the button on his jeans and then the zipper. All the while Benedict complied with my gentle shoving, shuffling backwards toward the hallway and the bedroom. Clothing, both his and mine, was tossed carelessly along the way, and I tried to fix him with a serious, seductive look as I chucked my sports bra into a corner. He giggled as I pushed him down on the bed. “I can’t see you all hot and bothered without feeling the same. I know you love dirty talk, I just never knew my voice could turn you on that much.” His hands reached out and clutched at my hips, pulling me to him. “But I’ll be damn sure to remember from now on.” I placed a finger over his mouth and shushed him. The time for talking was over.

     It was time to show him he wasn’t the only one with oral skills.


End file.
